


My Heart On Your Sleeve

by MedicateMe



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Conspiracy Theories, Family Bonding, Fluff, Klaus doesn’t know how Tea works, Klaus genuinely wants to bond with his Dad, Little bit of blood, Misunderstandings, Nobody understands Klaus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reggie is not the worse dad possible for once, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding, attempts at familial affection, little tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedicateMe/pseuds/MedicateMe
Summary: Klaus had come to startling realization...he had never seen his father smile...or cry. In fact his father had rarely shown any emotions at all.Klaus just wants to get closer to his father and see these things he never had...but his father makes it increasingly difficult.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 88





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t want to work on too many fics but I genuinely feel all fluffy inside at familial bonding and I just couldn’t help myself. Anyway I have a lot planned for this fic and I hope that it’ll be long and fluffy and have boat load of character development and all of that good jazz hehe.
> 
> Here’s a little prologue~

Klaus twiddled his fingers as he tried his best to do the worksheet laid out in front of him. The question although seemingly normal was so big on the page that he couldn’t help but think of it as a trap.

_Are you happy?_

He bites his fingertips in thought, just rereading the question again and again as his father sat on the couch, just feet away, reading the newspaper with an increasingly harsh glare. It’s as he’s staring that he just wants to crumple up the paper because it’s unfair. So unfair and...ridiculous to ask such a personal question.

How would his father like it if he asked that question? Have you ever been happy old man? He starts scribbling on the side of his paper as he grinds his teeth. His father would hate it absolutely hate it because his father has never been happy.

He stops scribbling, stops breathing for an entire moment as he looks back to his father and stares. Is that true? He can’t remember a time his father ever smiled...or cried, or even muttered an I love you. His father never seemed to care about anything but the boring things and even then, he never truly looked like he’s cared.

His father is heartless. His father is cruel. His father has no heart. His father...must not be human because no human could ever be as dark and grim as he is. He doesn’t treat them any differently than soldiers and never tells him he cares about them at all.

He finally begins to answer the question as his siblings are finishing up and their papers. He lies and writes that he’s happy, as always, because throwing his problems on someone else has never suited him.

His father flips the newspaper around and sighs with irritation. Still, his face reminds emotionless.


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is grumpy but give them a break. I’m just setting the story a little~

"Have you ever seen dad smile?" He poses the question to Diego, not expecting much of anything from him considering his growing temperament as of late.

"No," his brother snaps as he takes a hand full of water from the sink and splashes his face. He rubs at the dirt that has accumulated from a long sparing session with Luther. He rubs and rubs until the sink is a brown watery mix and a gross woody smell starts to waft through the kitchen.

"Don't you think that it's...concerning?"

His brother stops mid splash to give him a disbelieving glare. "Cry me a river why don't you. Does it look like I care about _him _?" He lets the water drip in the sink for another moment before splashing his face again.__

____

__

"But-"

"But nothing. Why do you suddenly care so much?"

His heart squeezes is in his chest and the sudden pain is surprising. He doesn't open his mouth again...he just can't face the fact that his brother is right. He never particularly cared before...but then again he never noticed either.

How quiet his father is, how harsh his glares are, how his mouth never moved to make a smile. It's all so abnormal because he's spent his whole life being so expressive and outgoing that he couldn't imagine never smiling.

"Is it weird I want him to be happy?"

Diego wipes his face with a towel and a smile sneaks across his lips. "Sounds like you just want to suck up. Did you take a page out of Luther's book?"

He bumps shoulders with Diego and crosses his arms. "It's not like that." his brother just looks away.

"Whatever."

He crosses off Diego on his list of possible allies in this little mission he's going on.

————————————————————

Seeing as he probably won't find any allies or any real help he decides to brainstorm a bit. What does his father like? He stares at the paper in front of him with very little coming to mind.

He writes down what his father likes- order, organization, quiet...the list is rather short. He can't really say his father has any likes that really define him other than his love for science and knowledge. It's all just...normal really.

He moves on to write his father's dislikes which is bigger but again...not exactly abnormal. Disorganization, wasting time, caffeine, drugs, makeup, cross-dressing...he realizes as he's writing that perhaps he's a little bias.

He crumples up the papers and throws them in his bin before laying on his bed and sighing his heart out. He doesn't even know where to start. How do make someone smile who has never done so before? How can you talk to someone who has no interest in talking?

How can you become friends with someone who keeps an arm's length between everything and everyone? How? It's a big mountain to climb and he realizes that he'll have to start somewhere, anywhere. He just needs to start.

This, of course, is harder said than done because any wrong move could give him solitary for a week or a nice long stay and training a la mode. Neither of which he enjoys more than the regular person.

Bonding with your father shouldn't be this hard...but that's just how it is. 

————————————————————

"You're barking up the wrong tree," Five informs him helpfully as he examines the crumpled up paper he had not been given permission to read.

"Bite me," he says, more playfully than malicious. He's tying his shoes, adjusting his clothes so that they are proper because he can at least try to make his first attempts at bonding easier on his father's eyes.

"What are you trying to prove?"

He slaps his cheeks and tries his best to smile. "Nothing," he informs Five who does not seem to believe him in the slightest.

Five gives a click of his tongue as he tosses the paperback in the bin. "You know...this is pointless. You couldn't even name a hobby of his."

His cheeks redden but he continues on getting ready. "He likes to read," he says back to Five who rolls his eyes. 

"Is that all?"

He opens his mouth...but nothing comes out. He goes silent. "You used to ignore him so passionately that I bet you don't even know anything he fancies. Quiet? Order? Could you get any more basic?"

He bites his tongue before going to slap five on the chest. His brother teleports away from him and gives him a smirk.

Five is annoying when he's like this. When he thinks he's so cool and smart but really he's just stubborn and...a lot like their father. Although Five will never admit that they're similar.

————————————————————

He observes his father from afar. He stands behind the living (or as his father would call it, the parlor) room arch. He stands there and just...stares at his father like some kind of stalker. 

His father just keeps on reading his newspaper, completely ignoring him. He doesn't give any indication that he even knows that he's being watched...but there's no doubt that he has to sense something by now.

His father flips the newspaper closed and reaches inside his coat pocket before getting out a journal. He begins to write and although his eyes are rather piercing, he doesn't seem to be too displeased.

He takes a mental note as he walks away. Too scared to approach after all of that preparation...what a waste. At least he knows where he can start now.

He should start writing in a journal too. Recording his process in this fashion is surely a good start to making his dad a happier person. 

————————————————————

Day 1.  
I watched dad from afar but he seemed to ignore my presence. No contact was made.  
—Klaus


	3. Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus: Dad isn’t happy
> 
> Everyone else: ?

"You're early," His father noted with more distaste than when he's late.

He can't even comprehend why because he's so sleep deprived from staying up. He just wanted to try harder, to start doing the things his father expects from him...yet, his father's piercing glare is more concerning than anything.

It hurts. He feels terrible and he just can't understand why his father isn't happy at this. At all. 

Then Luther walks out of his room, rubbing his eyes before yawning. His. brother then freezes before giving him a glare.

He continues doing things like this for the rest of the day. Getting dressed early, getting to breakfast first, getting his father the bell when he wants it or even his coat when they go outside for training. His father never seems to be anymore happier about it. In fact, his mood just seems to worsen with each one of his kind acts and by the end of their training session he feels terrible.

All his hard work meant nothing in the end and with Luther's increasingly heavy glare it's hard to say he doesn't regret doing them.

————————————————————

"What do you think you're doing?" Luther seethes to him, grasping his shoulders tightly and giving him that one look. The look of utter disgust.

"I'm not doing anything," he retorts and slaps Luther's hands off of him, but they return just as quick. "Go away."

"Not until you tell me what you think you're doing by...being Dad's pet like this."

He can't help but chuckle because Luther is the same exact way, except he doesn't even know it. "I was just wondering...if I helped out more if he would be happier."

"Happier?" Luther lets go of his shoulders and they burn. "How could dad get any happier than he is right now?"

He just looks at Luther like he's crazy because he is. He's delusional. Dad has never been happy.

"He-"

Luther grins and looks away before bringing a hand to his mouth to conceal his growing laughter. "Oh my," he mutters between laughs. "You're adorable."

He blushes and hits Luther on his chest and his brother takes it. He just keeps laughing and shaking his head.

"Dad is happy," Luther says when he stops, he wipes tears from his eyes as he leaves. "Trust me."

"But-"

Luther walks out of his door.

_But dad has never smiled._

————————————————————

"Dad-"

His father glares.

"Sir, can I ask you something?"

His father doesn't seem all that displeased, probably because he's expected something like this from the moment he saw that he had woken up early. He probably figured he was sucking up all day although that really wasn't his intention.

"I was wondering..."

His father's hands tap his pants in growing frustration. He was patient sometimes but not very often.

"How are babies made?"

His voice seems to echo through the room and Ben, who had been picking out a book to read, looks over to him in horror. But what was he supposed to do? He thought he should start out with baby steps, surely his father would smile if was embarrassed. He had to be embarrassed right?

His father's expression doesn't change, at all.

"Ask your mother," it's harsh, very harsh and almost methodical.

"But-"

A glare stops him from saying more.

Ben still looks at him like he's an idiot.

————————————————————

"Pogo," he follows the Butler around with a slight pep in his step. "Have you ever seen Dad smile?"

"Perhaps," Pogo states while swirling a blue substance around in a flask. "Why?" He inquires afterward while stiffing the liquid.

The lab around them seems to groan and it smells so much like bleach that he can't even think for a moment. "I was just...wondering if dad's ever been happy."

Pogo stops swirling the liquid and sits it down on the table with a sigh. "Master Klaus, your father is plenty happy."

He frowns and brings his nails to mouth for a moment, chewing until he can gather up his thoughts. He can't understand it.

"But he doesn't smile."

"And he doesn't need to," Pogo drawls on, rubbing his forehead while explaining something he thinks should be elementary. "People show happiness in different ways, Master Klaus, just like you can show affection in different ways than Master Diego does."

"But-"

"You may struggle to understand it but don't push your ideals of happiness on to him."

He nods but...he can't accept it rationally. It's hard to understand, hard to grasp for him because happiness is something everyone wants right? How could you not smile if you're happy, how could you not laugh and feel the heat consume your cheeks?

————————————————————

He feels pretty terrible after that. His body is sluggish, he's tired, he really just wants to lay down and go to sleep. He walks by the living room, peering inside at his father that is reading an old dusty book, one which has no name to speak of. But he can imagine it's probably science-related.

He looks at his father for a while. Is he happy? Even though his eyebrows furrow everyday and his eyes are always glaring at everything. Is he truly happy like this? 

His father's cup is empty.

He walks inside and picks it up and his father opens his mouth to say something. "I'll get you more," he says quickly, cutting his father off.

His father doesn't say anything. Although he should have, because cutting him off was something a non respectable child would do.

He goes to the kitchen feeling the dropping of his heart with each step. He isn't sure how to make tea, honestly, his mother always made it.

He thinks perhaps you need hot water. So he turns on the hot water knob on the sink before filling the cup. He then takes a teabag from beneath the sink and places it inside the cup. He smells it and thinks it smells quite good but...kinda bitter. So he adds sugar. lots and lots of sugar.

He swirls it drink around with a spoon before dropping it in the sink. He walks slowly back to his father, as not to spill the tea, before smiling a nice big smile at his achievements. He can't help it really he's proud of himself for once.

His father takes the tea and looks at it experimentally. He swirls it before taking a sip. A sip that causes him to frown and scrunch up his nose.

His heart drops, his hands start to sweat and he starts to think up excuses, explanations. Next time he'll do better, next he will he promises so just-

"Thank you," His father says as he sits the drink aside and goes back to reading. He's still frowning, still very much displeased, but he hasn't scolded him yet.

He smiles at the praise, at the small thing he's won. 

————————————————————

Day 2.  
Made contact multiple times. The first few times were failures but the last time was a good beginning. Father fancies tea and this is something I can do for him.  
—Klaus


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is an absolute cutie and I don’t make the rules.

Allison seemed to stare at him more heavily that day. When he got dad his coat, the bell, even offering to tie his shoes although that earned him a glare. His sister had seen all that and it was clear she was perplexed at his sudden change of heart. Suddenly he was a good child who cared.

She pulled him aside before dinner, pressing her motherly concern on him. 

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked him, touching the back of her hand to his forehead.

"I'm fine," he smiled to Allison, gently easing her hand off of him. "I've just found a hobby," he explains, his smile turning into a grin. "I'm trying to make dad smile," he whispers to her, more discreet as if the very thing he suggested was taboo.

She stares for a long moment. Just tracing his features with her eyes, his smile, his eyes, his loosen and upbeat posture. He was happy doing this, he truly was, and he'll be so much happier when his father is happy.

"Good," she says to him, a little worry shines in her eyes but it's clear she's trying to be happy for him. "I'm glad you've found something productive to do...although I hope you don't push too hard at the subject. Dad would probably think it's a sore one."

He gives her a nod before walking the dinner table and taking a seat. His father sips his tea, the one made by his mother, and seems to be content.

————————————————————

There wasn't much training done that day. It was an educational day, more based on worksheets and their mother's long lessons. But he took notes, actual notes like Ben does or Five does...and his brothers and sisters just can't seem to get over it.

They look over at him, shocked, disgusted, and just so disbelieving that he's really taking notes. He actually feels a little offended while he writes. It's not like he's stupid he just never cared. Just because he decided to stop waging his worth on how good his grades are doesn't mean his IQ went down.

He rolls his eyes and continues taking notes all the same. Irritated and a little grumpy but he just tries his best to be positive. 

His father checks in on them, as he usually does, and when he peers in the doorway he looks in for a fraction more than usual. His eyes are stuck on him, the fact that he's paying attention and taking notes.

But he doesn't seem to be any happier. Again, it's like he's going backward and not forward because his father frowns at the mere sight of him being a good child.

It makes it harder and harder to study because it feels like his efforts are leading nowhere.

————————————————————

Then later when it's calm and they get a little freedom. Not all, they're supposed to be tidying their rooms and clothes but they don't really. Their father rarely checks such actions at this point unless someone's been bad but...everyone has been proper good children.

Even him.

So he wanders down the parlor room again, although he shouldn't be there, and he peers inside at his father. Well, he would if his father was there but he isn't. The room is empty.

It's a little harder to see his father in his lab or office because you weren't really supposed to be there. With the living room, it's easy to pretend you were getting something, like a book.

He just sighs and makes his way to his father's lab, all the while thinking up excuses and such. Although the only thing that comes to mind is that he just wants to spend time with his dad. Is that so strange? His father would think so wouldn't he?

He just wants to sit on a stool, head on his hand, and watch his father perform some science experiment. He wouldn't even talk, no he'd be so silent his father would never even know he's there. And if his father asked a question he could answer it thoughtfully because he had been fascinated with the gift he's been given.

Of course though this is all pipe dream as his father would call it. Just something he'll never have

He peers inside the lab, to his father who talks with Pogo in hush whispers. He can't hear a word they speak but he can see their lips moving and he wishes he could join the conversation.

He just wants to talk to his father. Like a normal child would. He wants to call his father Dad and not sir all the time. He wants to talk about his nightmares, the things he wants to do in life, or what he would buy if he had an allowance. There are so many more things he would say too, too many to count, but he's never been allowed to have a real conversation with him.

"Number Four?" His father's voice breaks his thought and causes him to jolt.

"Yes?" He squeaks before coughing a few times and calming himself.

"Would you mind enlightening me on what you're doing?"

He feels so small right now. When his father talks down to him like this and his voice gets caught in his throat. It's suffocating him.

"Sir I-"

His father sighs a heavy, tired sigh before whispering something to Pogo and walking towards him. He stills, he can't help it really. The fact that his brain goes blank and all he can do is take a step backward, and another.

His father places his hand on his shoulder, heavy, stopping him from trembling. "Let's walk," his father said, pushing, making his feet start moving without his command.

They walk down the hallway, a fear bubbling in his gut at the silence. His father had dropped his hand from his shoulder and grew a frown instead. All those thoughts he had of talking to his father and spending time with him just dried up and now he feels like his blood isn't even being pumped through his veins anymore.

It is completely quiet. Only their footsteps can be heard and with each one, his trembling returns harder and harsher than before. 

He doesn't know what his father wants from him. What does he want to hear? What is he waiting for? Why isn't he talking?

He doesn't know and that's why he's so afraid. Is his father angry at his attempts at bonding? At making him happy? Is his father perplexed at his goody-two-shoes way he's been lately?

Is everything he's done for nothing?

"Number Four," His father finally says, bringing his vision from the hardwood floor to straight ahead of him where he is faced with a wall. He bumps into it, head first, and a hot pain burns in his nostrils. He grasps his nose and whines for a moment before turning to his father, planning on yelling about the late warning but-

His father is smiling.

It's small, barely visible, and maybe not even a true smile, but it's something he's long to see for so long that he's rendered speechless. He just keeps staring and his father's lips curl back down into a frown and another low sigh leaves his lips.

"Sometimes I find myself believing you were born without a brain." 

He finds himself smiling uncontrollably just remembering his father's lips curled upright just so on the sides. Just enough to be perfect, to be everything he wanted...except it isn't. He wants his father to be happy...not to be amused. Amusement is not the same as happiness.

Even so a smile is a smile no matter the cause.

His father looks away as his nose scrunches up at the display he's seeing. Blood begins dripping down from his nose, tainting his lips as his smile widens so much he probably looks crazy but for once...

He's proud of himself.

————————————————————

Day 3  
Today I got my first bloody nose and dad found it amusing. I saw something I only dreamed of...his smile. Although small and perhaps not a true smile born from happiness, it means that what I'm doing hasn't all gone to waste. I hope to see more emotions soon, embarrassment, joy, sadness, and all the in-betweens.  
—Klaus


	5. Day 4

Day 4  
Journals are stupid.

————————————————————

He realizes when he takes a step back from it all that he's going about this the wrong way. His father didn't smile-if he could really call it that- because of his efforts. No, he smiled because he hurt himself.

Does that make his father happy?

He wonders as he watches his father, no emotions on his face as he rubs his hand over the surface of a desk and then looking at it as if it was dirty. Perhaps it is but his mother is responsible for cleaning.

"Would you like...more tea?" He asks in a small whisper, not sure if he really wants to speak or not. Still unsure if anything he’s really doing is making a difference at this point.

His father doesn’t respond to him or really acknowledge his presence. He just walks away, to his office he can imagine, but he leaves the cup there.

So he makes tea. At least he tries to but he isn’t very good at it. Hot water, from the tap, insert teabag, add lots of sugar- and there you have it. Tea or what’s supposed to be tea.

He takes it to his father, very slowly, the office is far away and if he were to make a mess he’d never hear the end of it. He knocks on his father’s door for a long while, not getting a response for so long he started to turn around.

“Number Four,” His father finally says, seemingly having the power to see through doors. “You may enter.”

He walks inside and holds the cup out in front of him, as if offering it up, and although his father doesn’t immediately look up he does after the silence drawls on.”Would you like it?” He finally asks when his father doesn’t say anything.

Still his father stays silent. Paperwork litters his desk from police reports to the mundane things like bills. It’s a lot when it’s piled up like this and he can’t but feel bad. His father has a big plate to fill.

He sits the cup on his desk and receives no thank you or even a real nod. There is nothing. Heat consumes his cheeks and he tries his best to laugh it off as he walks out of the room.

It’s the thought that counts right?

He hears the clinging of the cup being picked up and out of the corner of his eyes he sees his father drink it. It makes him happy although he would much rather take a seat and watch his father do paperwork.

He just wants to say that they’re close. That he knows something no one else knows. That he’s been somewhere no else has tread. But in all those regards Luther has him beat and that’s all well and good.

He still wants to feel like they’re something keen to family.

————————————————————

They go out training that afternoon. Public relations their father called it not so fondly as if he himself didn’t care for the topic. Regardless it was easy, just a simple practice in manners and etiquette in public, with normal people.

He doesn’t really think something like this is necessary but he supposes that maybe it’s good for them. They’ve lacked normal human contact for a while. The thing that makes it suck though, are the smiling faces they meet.

Couples who kiss and laugh together. Families who smother each other in so much affection that their faces are red and their smiles look soft. It all seems natural, the laughter, the smiling, the love, it’s just so normal yet, his own family lacks it.

His father never gave them hugs nor forehead kisses. He never attempted any of the normal familial things he’s seeing. Instead, he trained and worked them to sleep deprivation, and even then he treated them with an iron fist instead of welcoming arms.

He has never treated them like children since the moment he had procured them.

It drops his spirits really, seeing all this, realizing all this. Just knowing there’s a chance that maybe all he’s doing means nothing. Maybe Pogo is right, maybe their father is happy being like this.

A cold-hearted man.

————————————————————

They eat out, which is a little abnormal, but it’s another exercise in manners. His father is a little irritated at Five and his overbearing ‘I know everything’ thing he’s been doing all day. He acts like he’s the properest person to ever exist but he isn’t.

Luther has been a little clumsy but the effort was there. Ben was a bit shy and Diego couldn’t help but snicker every time Luther blushed or said something the wrong way. Everyone else did just fine, including himself.

He tried his hardest.

“Maybe dad is an alien? Ever think of that?” Diego whispers to him at the dinner table. He leans in closer, excitingly waiting for a response.

“That’s crazy,” he replies before shoveling a spoon full of his dinner in his mouth. Mash potatoes and pancakes to be exact.

“It’s not that crazy,” his brother continues prodding the subject, getting closer with every word. “He never seems happy about anything, he never seems sad about anything. There’s not much known from his past...” he leans in closer, “Come on Doesn’t it sound a little mysterious?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says as he pushes Diego away and shovels more food into his mouth. “That sounds like something I’d say,” he mutters lowly taking his attention away from Diego and to his father who had begun to stare daggers at them.

Talking isn’t allowed at the table.

Diego opens his mouth to say more but he kicks his foot and gestures to their father. Diego keeps his mouth shut but they will surely hear about this later. He tried so hard to be a good child but look at this, stupid Diego getting him in trouble.

————————————————————

He wonders briefly if his father even knows what love is. Has he ever felt it? Does he care about kissing or women? It’s a strange thing to think about sure, but he’s never really heard his father talk about anything like that.

“No talking at the dinner table,” His father scolds them, less than usual once they get home, seeming fed up with everything and just too tired to care. It was a miracle really, if they had done it at home they would surely be dead right now.

Diego leaves first, seeing no reason to stick around his footsteps match his heartbeat rather perfectly. 

“Sir,” he mutters, scratching his wrist as his voice comes out.

“Don’t mumble,” his father instructs as he turns to leave, clearly uninterested in the plights of his children. He has never cared. 

“Sir,” he repeats again, more clear, but his father still continues walking only looking back with a simple look of ‘what?’ But it was menacing. As if he was saying that if his words weren’t good he’d be furious so...he stays quiet.

His father doesn’t bother looking back again. He doesn’t care. He never cared. All he cares about is work and saving the world from an invisible threat.

He feels like he might throw up. He’s so sick to his stomach but he just can’t help it.

Have you ever been in love?

His father probably would have been disgusted if he asked that. He would have, wouldn’t he? His father doesn’t care about things like that. He doesn’t care for emotions nor sentiments even though...even though he should.

They are such an important part of living. What’s the point of going on if you don’t smile and laugh? What’s the point of getting up every morning if you don’t value anything.

What’s the point?

————————————————————

Day 4  
Journals are the only things father loves.  
—Klaus


	6. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the angst is little and temporary!

“Does dad ever talk to you,” he asks his mother while helping with the dishes. An unnecessary task but just another thing he does to push his good boy imagery.

His mother blinks a few times as she seems perplexed at the question. “Of course he does,” she says cheerfully as she puts away some of the plates he had washed.

“I mean-” he makes a noise, decibels low with frustration. “Does he talk to you about personal things? Like love and likes and dislikes you know? Those kinds of things.”

She hums a little as she puts away the cups and the spoons. Only answering once she stated go put away the forks. “Sometimes,” she says, almost in a manner as if she’s brushing the topic off. It’s like she’s doesn’t want to talk about it or maybe...she’s not allowed to.

He gives her a nod and helps her put away the final few dishes which only consisted of a bowl and a whisker.

“Thank you, darling,” she gives him a little smooch on the forehead even though he fake protests and tells her no. He can’t help but like being dotted on even though some see it as being not manly.

————————————————————

“What’s with you lately?” Ben asks him, concern littering his features. “You’ve been so quiet but yet, more outburst prone than usual,” Ben leans in closer, evading his space while they do a worksheet. Nothing grand, nothing even close to being important. Just a little shred of proof that they are doing some learning if someone ever comes snooping around. “Where is Klaus and what did you do with him?”

He gives his brother a shrug. Truth be told he honestly doesn’t know either. Maybe he’s chasing a phantom of a dream, maybe he’s been craving familial affection, maybe just maybe he’s touched starved-If that’s even a thing. It could really a lot of things or a combination of a couple, the need for his father to gain some shred of happiness and himself to enjoy the approval of a man who has always seen him as a disappointment.

He can’t explain the pain that builds up in his chest each time he thinks too much about this. About the fact that his effort is probably going nowhere. Five is right, he’s barking up the wrong tree. Pogo is right, dad is probably happy the way he is. Luther would know better than anyone.

So why? Why can’t he just leave it alone? He will probably never know because reading a heart is a hard thing to do. Nearly impossible even.

He sighs and nudges Ben away, asking for a little space, and ben gives it to him. “I’m just...trying to make dad happy,” he mumbles against his hand, unsure if his cause is even justified now.

Ben shakes his head and returns to his worksheet. He even mumbles a few things underneath his breath and laughs but then he stops, looking at him in what looks like horror as he realizes he’s serious. “Klaus,” he says, small, broken. “You shouldn’t have to change who you are to make him happy...if you do that then you’ll end up unhappy,” the words sound like they physically hurt to say and he feels them.

He feels them pile on to his back and crumple his bones to dust with their weight. He feels them and knows that the truth is hidden right there within each syllable spoken. He knows and yet, somehow he thinks he’s always feared this truth.

He can’t help but want to deny it. Tell Ben he’s wrong and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about but...Ben is right. It’s just that nobody else has had to guts to tell him that.

“I know,” he says bitterly, pushing on Ben again, asking for even more space, and Ben gives it to him again. He can’t help that his eyes water at this, at everything.

He’s an idiot.

————————————————————

He makes his father tea again. This time sluggish and less motivated. He just feels like he’s being so idiotic...just what is he going to accomplish with all this? Just what?

Hot tap water, tea bag, loads of sugar, it’s done. Yet, he looks at it and feels nothing but disappointment. His father would be so upset with him if he knew why he’s been doing all this. These stupid things he thought would make him happy.

He sighs, staring at the brownish liquid and he just finds himself wanting to dump it down the drain. Why should he care anymore? Why shouldn’t he just give it up and accept that his father isn’t going to change?

He isn’t going to smile when he’s happy. He isn’t going to cry when he’s sad. He isn’t going to love him, ever, even if he spent the rest of his life doing what his father wanted.

He’s simply a man who is incapable of such a useless thing. Love is probably like a sickness to his father.

“Did you make that?” A voice brings him out of his terrible train of thought and he can’t help but flinch. “Yeah,” he says, turning to Five who picks up the glass and smells it experimentally. “It’s for dad,” he says lowly, finding himself hoping Five doesn’t hear him.

“It smells disgusting...”Five’s nose scrunches up as he brings the cup to his lips and sips on it.

“Hey-” he goes to yell at Five but before he can even get a sentence out Five is pushing him aside and throwing up in the sink. He coughs, sputters, and his head stays low in the sink.

“Five?” He pats his brothers back gently and Five’s coughing slowly stops.

“God,” Five leans up and wipes some of the tea that ran down his chin off. “That is awful. I bet you would have killed dad if you gave that to him.” Five turns on the tap and intakes water before spitting it back out.

His face is hot and he can’t help but look everywhere but Five. He suspected it was bad but...not that bad.

“Dad has already had a couple cups,” he mutters in a half attempt at defending himself.

“He has not.”

“He has,” he says harsher and Five seems to take his words more seriously.

Five just stands there, a dumbstruck look on his face, and no matter how much time passes by he just can’t manage a sentence. His mouth is slack, little breathes leave him that indicate that he’s still alive.

“You...you are suicidal aren’t you?”

“What?” he takes a step back, feeling somewhat attack when Five takes one forward.

Five narrows his eyes and they stare at each other for a while in a war of sorts and then Five just leaves without another word.

He just stands there in the kitchen, confused, hurt, and simultaneously shaking all the same. He doesn’t understand what just happened or what it means but...he feels as if something has changed.

————————————————————

Day 5,

I’m confused, intrigued, and a little bitter but I have a feeling everything might be getting better.  
—Klaus


	7. Day 6

Vanya plays the violin today. It's a sweet soft melody compared to when she started. She it's not perfect but it's also not terrible. It's just...rather ordinary, not that it's her fault. She practices and practices every chance she gets.

He listens, his eyes closed, his head leaned back against the couch, and it feels like water is rushing over him. It's sobering to him, bringing him back to earth after all the time he's spent worked up on an imaginary problem.

It probably isn't worth his worry.

"It's good," he opens his eyes and give her a grin as she stops and holds her violin to the side.

"Thank you," she blushes a little as she avoids his gaze. She isn't used to the praise. Their father didn't particularly say any encouraging words to her, at least that he knows of.

In fact their father would have never allowed this, him to watch her, if he was home. He went out with Luther for something or another, he never really justified his reasons for leaving because he feels as if he doesn't need to.

Vanya is quiet for awhile, her fingers just tracing the violin's strings. "Do you...want to talk?" He tilts his head as he asks her. Just feeling the air turn awkward around them.

She shakes her head and he doesn't push it. They aren't exactly close.

————————————————————

When his father returns he's irritated but that's not much different than usual. He just lingers around the house in a way that is familiar. His father is looking for something to scold, even something as small as a dirty sock or a unmade bed. He finds nothing.

They didn't do much while he was gone.

His father doesn't seem to be happy even knowing that they were good soldiers while he was gone. He ends up sitting in the parlor room when he's done, just his head on his hand and a book in the other. He reads with little enthusiasm.

He ends up lingering around his father, just as his father had done to them. He wanders here and there, pretending to pick out a book, pretending to clean, pretending to be doing anything other than creeping into his father's personal space.

When he doesn't get much of a response he takes bolder action and sits next to his father. His back straight, his eyes set ahead, and his cheeks are heating up without his permission.

"Number Four," His father says half heartily, his eyes still locked on his book. "Would you make yourself useful and make me tea," the words are so slow and sharp that he can't help but turn even redder. Just remembering Five makes his stomach churn.

He nods anyway and makes haste to the kitchen to make tea. He follows all his usual steps and it smells just the same. He brings it to his father so slowly he can't help but be faced with the truth that he doesn't want to give it to him. He's embarrassed.

His father takes the drink from his hands without a word then he brings it to his mouth. He sips on it, his features show little emotion if any before he takes another sip all the same.

He sits down with his father again and his father closes his book with a sigh. He turns his attention to him and he has the urge to scoot away but he doesn't. He's not embarrassed, he's not afraid, he not. He can't be. He needs to show his father that he's determined.

His father's eyes narrow at him, at him not doing a thing, at him being a waste of space, at him sucking up. "What are you trying to achieve?" His father asks a question that really isn't strange all things to consider but his mouth drys up.

"I," he looks here, there, his cheeks heat up even more and he just can't steady his heart. "I was wondering if you are happy..." he asks quietly, so quietly that if his father didn't hear him he wouldn't be surprised.

His father doesn't say anything. It's a sore subject, it must be, Allison is good at telling those kinds of things.

"Does it matter?"

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to make an argument out of nothing. His father however doesn't seem to want to let the subject go.

"We have too much work to do to let ourselves be encumbered with emotions."

There it is again. That speech about saving the world and this and that. It's all getting old. But somehow it's just like his father and he can't help but just think they're having a conservation. They are talking, really talking, and it's just as miserable as he imagined it. But it isn't all bad in fact, he can't help but smile uncontrollably with each word they share.

"Never mind," he huffs, in a fake bout of disinterest, just trying to drop the subject. "Are you ever planning on calling me Klaus?"

Another sore subject.

His father raises a eyebrow at him. "After you start calling me Monocle," His words are heavy.

He cringes and looks away. It's a fair exchange really. If he gets to be called what he wants to be called then so does his father. Except he doesn't want to call his dad monocle, even sir doesn't feel right, he just wants to call him dad but his father hates it with a passion.

This is his sore subject.

————————————————————

Day 6,

Attempts at communicating with dad have gone poorly. I hope to improve in the near future.  
—Klaus


End file.
